Sherlock Holmes and The Mystery Of The Silver Men
Sherlock Holmes and The Mystery of The Silver Men, crossover with Doctor Who, hint of H/W, U-rated.
I started this as a reply to red_tanya's brilliant suggestions of crackfic here. GIMME MORE! I'm on fire tonight!:)
***
I watched as Holmes splayed his long, elegant fingers on the cool North Welsh slate, white upon black, caressing it as if whimsically, then sniffing his fingers.
"Watson, here we have our quarry."
I looked around, bemused--this was, indeed, a quarry, the stories of which the native wives tell their children to warn them from straying, replete with silvery ghouls, giant hairy trolls, and even the Devil himself in black cape and beard, of voices heard in the night...
Holmes wiped his hands clean, stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket, and snapped his fingers with glee:
"A-HA! There is where our quarry has gone!", pointing to a cave far away in the rocky outcrop, with something silver, shining there. I groaned inwardly when I realised he'd meant "quarry" in quite a different sense.
We made our way to the cave and dared even peek inside. Holmes put his finger on his lips, and whispered into my ear. "My dearest friend, I think this time we are going to need outside assistance". I was baffled--surely not Mycroft? We made our exit swiftly and quietly, taking great careful steps amongst the pieces of slate. "Who do you have in mind, Holmes?" I enquired when we finally made it home with the Ffestiniog railway, enjoying nice cups of tea. "I believe his name is Doctor John Smith". He grinned and showed me a tiny piece of strange equipment I couldn't fathom. "What on earth is that, Holmes?" "This, my friend, is what hones in on his vehicle, to place it exactly in the middle of the quarry we just visited. He can handle creatures of worlds not ours, the most unearthly and abominable sort! Right now, I believe our problem has been solved!"
I was taken aghast that Holmes, a man of rationality and scepticism, should even use the words "worlds not ours!" Nevertheless, I kept my quiet and resolved to ask Holmes more in the evening, and returned to my cold tea. I must confess I already started grinning, when thinking of all the sinful ways I could relax Holmes into giving up his secrets. This night, Holmes's mercurial temperament in its accomplished and joyful state would certainly make him more tolerable, especially after a good dinner and a little bit of Scottish whisky in him.
I started this as a reply to red_tanya's brilliant suggestions of crackfic here. GIMME MORE! I'm on fire tonight!:)
***
I watched as Holmes splayed his long, elegant fingers on the cool North Welsh slate, white upon black, caressing it as if whimsically, then sniffing his fingers.
"Watson, here we have our quarry."
I looked around, bemused--this was, indeed, a quarry, the stories of which the native wives tell their children to warn them from straying, replete with silvery ghouls, giant hairy trolls, and even the Devil himself in black cape and beard, of voices heard in the night...
Holmes wiped his hands clean, stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket, and snapped his fingers with glee:
"A-HA! There is where our quarry has gone!", pointing to a cave far away in the rocky outcrop, with something silver, shining there. I groaned inwardly when I realised he'd meant "quarry" in quite a different sense.
We made our way to the cave and dared even peek inside. Holmes put his finger on his lips, and whispered into my ear. "My dearest friend, I think this time we are going to need outside assistance". I was baffled--surely not Mycroft? We made our exit swiftly and quietly, taking great careful steps amongst the pieces of slate. "Who do you have in mind, Holmes?" I enquired when we finally made it home with the Ffestiniog railway, enjoying nice cups of tea. "I believe his name is Doctor John Smith". He grinned and showed me a tiny piece of strange equipment I couldn't fathom. "What on earth is that, Holmes?" "This, my friend, is what hones in on his vehicle, to place it exactly in the middle of the quarry we just visited. He can handle creatures of worlds not ours, the most unearthly and abominable sort! Right now, I believe our problem has been solved!"
I was taken aghast that Holmes, a man of rationality and scepticism, should even use the words "worlds not ours!" Nevertheless, I kept my quiet and resolved to ask Holmes more in the evening, and returned to my cold tea. I must confess I already started grinning, when thinking of all the sinful ways I could relax Holmes into giving up his secrets. This night, Holmes's mercurial temperament in its accomplished and joyful state would certainly make him more tolerable, especially after a good dinner and a little bit of Scottish whisky in him.